[His whole life, Wolfwood has been the type who hasn't generally had the luxury of being a light sleeper. It isn't that he doesn't sleep heavily- anyone who has been anywhere near this man when he's asleep knows he's dead once he's really out- it's just that he's never been relaxed or comfortable enough to allow himself to drift into that kind of sleep. Being an assassin will do that to you. It's better, here, when he has people he loves to sleep with to help mitigate that feeling, but...you know. It's the Grove. He always feels like he's in some sort of mortal fucking peril.

Weirdly though, even with this cold...that isn't true this morning. Wolfwood doesn't do this, he'd swear, but if you're visiting the Inn this morning you'll find him sitting at the end of one of the couches, unnaturally still. If you try to call out he won't answer, and this is because he's dead asleep. Maybe he came here to sit in front of the fire for some respite, maybe it's for another reason...but regardless, he's eeping, arms folded and knees apart like he was previously just sitting there.]

[The house Vash purchased is a bit of a walk from the Grove proper, so while Wolfwood doesn't typically expect visitors, it's common enough that people wander by this way if they're the type to do regular patrols or something. Maybe you're new and fucking lost. Maybe you're Ain, who Wolfwood has been regularly bringing over lately (even moreso because it's so god damn cold). Whoever you are at this point and time, if you wind up on the porch Wolfwood will crack the door to the tune of a black husky nose appearing in the doorjamb to say hello.]

...Oi. Getcher ass in here before you freeze to death.

[When the wraiths make their first appearance, Wolfwood feels an unsettling sense of deja vu. The cold itself is bitter and unforgivable, and he can only liken this kind of cold to one other instance...

Well. You'll catch Wolfwood getting ahead of the curve.

Only problem is, well. The last month has been low combat, lower energy...and because of that, he'd left his Punisher in the church. So, when he rushes through the wind and snow to go retrieve it, he finds that the gun has been completely encrusted over with ice. Ice at least an inch thick on all sides covers each peak of the cross, long icicles coming from the ends telling him that he'd be here a while trying to chisel the ice free. He'd be better off taking it to the Inn to let the fire melt it off, but he doesn't have that kind of time.]

Christ.

[Cursing under his breath, he grabs his pistol from the holster at his belt because at this point, it's really all he has. Are normal bullets even going to do anything to the wraiths? Well.

Wolfwood, never one to just sit around with his thumb up his ass, isn't going to wait for someone else to try it first. He kicks the door open from the church (no reason for this, he's going to have to fix that later) and swings around to take aim at the nearest one, the wind nearly knocking him over as it rips his words from his mouth and sweeps them away the second he starts firing.]

Eat shit!!